Moving hasn't been as simple as I would have thought, once you get used to things, it's hard to get separated from them. It's easier to see the flaws, to be compare certain things with others, and have a preference for the past.
Although new settings, ideas and views are always appreciated, you never know how much you like anything at all until it's gone.
There seems to be a strange quiet ambiance that howls throughout the house even though I can hear the fridge buzz endlessly, until it disconnects of course.
I'm slowly beginning to worry if Frank is dead, as me and Jaccob haven't been able to contact him in at least three days, four in an hour or so. So perhaps I won't have to play around like a jester for hire in front of people after all.
Well I wonder.
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